Decepticon zombie inquiry
Transformers 2005 - Saturday, April 15, 2006, 7:26 PM ----------------------------------------------------- NCC Medical Ward Like its previous incarnation, this medical ward was designed with the medic in mind, with all the modern advances to make the dirty work of repairs a world easier. It is well lit, the blue and violet metal of the walls and decor is a shade paler here, and the ubiquitous filigree is missing, all to assist in ease of cleaning. Still, the place veritably sparkles. In the furniture, there is a subtle motif of blades and sharp edges, as if to evoke the scalpel of a surgeon, although it is all quite safe. Around two dozen beds, more comfortable than their sharp looks would suggest, fill the medical ward, laid out in a tidy grid, and more can be flipped out of the walls should emergency demand it. A set of tracks on the ceiling mirror the grid of beds, allowing advanced scanning equipment and tolls to be swiveled around to the various beds. Computer terminals and cabinets are molded right into the walls at intervals, and while there are the normal medical security cameras, it appears as if someone has set some of the cameras specifically to watch the cabinets. Room Contents: Swindle Chimera Fleet Gumby Medic MSE CO OFFICE (Earth) Medical Rules Scrapper's Art - Sixteen Pieces Obvious exits: South leads to NCC Spinal Pathway. East leads to Mount R'lyeh. West leads to NCC Arena. Chimera pauses, gives Swindle a sidelong look as he identifies the dead seeker. "Fleet!" A shadow of a smile. And she approaches with that almost childlike glee. "Fleet! No yellow. Are you sad?" "Yes, Chimera. But I'm also dead," Fleet replies calmly enough. His expression moves into a slight, amused smile at her logic, before it's washed away by a wave of pain, causing him to wince. He nods towards Swindle. "Ah, yes. Swindle. I was hoping I'd run into you before long." Cyberlion slowly walks into the medical ward looking around left and right. He stops his gaze on Chimera then Fleet and Swindle... "Visiting an injured comrade or looking to avoid real work?" The Cyberlion circles the room for a suitable 'spot'. Swindle spreads his arms disarmingly. "Hey, you know me. Always around when I'm really needed." He grins, folding his arms. "So what's up? Got a couple of parts you're not using anymore an' wanna trade in?" Chimera frowns. Wincing. Is that good? Is the abyss calling? She'd ask a million questions, if she could-- but none of them come to mind right now. And since Swindle's had very little contact with her, and vice versa... Should she answer the lion? Or should she continue to drift in Fleet's orbit. "You died." She says with the same logic, "But you're not dead now, silly. The dead don't talk out loud." Except in her head. There the dead hold conversations with her. Fleet tilts his head. "Medically, Chimera, I am dead. So the medics and technicians here insist. And I don't feel alive, exactly... but I keep telling myself that this is better than death itself, and I can only improve my situation if I hold on." He looks up at Swindle. "One of those improvements I'm counting on is greater security. Do you have anything available that would make my quarters more secure?" Then to Razorclaw, "I'm only approved for light duty, anyway, and I can do the paper-pushing here." "Ahhh, I see." Swindle nods. "You're worried about, ah, do-gooders," yes he's aware of the irony, and finds it terribly amusing," trying to put an end to the unholy, evil, undead swarm, yes?" Pursing his lips, he contemplates his products, raising a hand to stroke his chin. "Well, I think I have a few applicable items." Chimera decides to favor the lion with a slow gaze, looking from him to her own dings. Mmm. Rocks. And then there is Swindle. "Do-gooders?" Awww. How cute. "Better than death, better than the black from which there is no relief." She shrugs and looks for a place to perch to keep the gray seeker company. "And if anyone bothers you, I'll kill them." Cyberlion growls slightly "That I can very much see...Fleet Isn't it? I was referring to the resident black marketeer." The Cyberlion moves closer to the seeker, ears twitching then proceeds to sniff around the 'corpse'. Analyzing and comparing with his past experience. The Cyberlion takes another shot at sniffing and listening. "Your...state is most...unusual. Your actual condition would be 'inconclusive' by /my/ experience anyway." Fleet dips his head towards Razorclaw in a nod. "Yes, that's right. Fleet. And... thank you for your analysis." He turns towards Chimera and smiles almost fondly. "And... thank you for the sentiment. But I think I'd like to prevent the, erm, bothering to begin with. Scrapper has also told me that if anyone messes with his... experiment, they will have to deal with Devastator. But all that assumes I've already been messed with so... yes." He looks up at Swindle. "I'd like to protect myself from the... do-gooders. It seems where once we Decepticons claimed we'd do anything to achieve our aims, now it's becomre more, 'Well, anything that doesn't happen to make me uncomfortable.'" Swindle's smile grows wider at Razorclaw's attention. "Why, Razorclaw, visiting a sick friend, of course." There is a small, almost unnoticable gap between the words 'sick' and 'friend'. "And when it comes to work... I'd think a DCI member would understand the delicacies of more subtle works." Swindle tips a nod towards Fleet. "Yeah, Can't see why they're making such a fuss, myself. Not like we haven't had complete rebuilds, returns from nigh-death, and the odd re-use of a lasercore. Quite why ther next logical step should upset anybody..." He trails off, shrugging. Chimera headtilts. "Comfort zones are becoming tiny." She states, "It frightens them." Another thought, as fleeting as the first goes by without her able to vocalize it. "... it is the small gap between functioning and not functioning that frightens, like a great height to an Autobot without flight." she hums softly for a moment, trailing off, and not going any further with the analogies, or analysis. Cyberlion frowns not exactly sure of the subject but nonetheless asks straight up instead of passing for an idiot by pretending to know what they are talking about. "What is this about 'comfort zones' and 'what' frightens 'who? The predacons have never been afraid of anything or anybody." Fleet allows himself a thing smile. "Oh, it's not everyone, but..." he trails off, and his expression contorts for a moment, then he shakes his head and continues, "I have had people I count friends rush away, frightened even to look at me. I have had others... offer to kill me, and still others state over the channels that if they see me, I'm dead. Completely." He looks up at the humming Chimera. "So you're saying it's because my state reminds them how close they are to death themselves?" Swindle says, "Ahhh," Swindle sighs, shaking his head. "But there are those amongst our ranks that are not up to the standards set by the fearless Predacons, it's sad to say." With that he turns away from Razorclaw, pulling a datapad out of a side compartment. He peruses it thogutfully for a moment or two, before holding it out for Fleet to take. "To start, here's a radio-controlled friction lock or two. See what you think."" Chimera breaks off humming and smiles at Fleet. That was the thought! "One step away. One small mistake. One moment from becoming nothing." She was nothing, wasn't she? And look at her now? "Because they don't want to think. Think about what might yet happen, what might never happen, what will happen when they go to their own... before they cease to exist as anything more than a memory." Back to humming. Seems like she's been practicing. On key for a change. Or is that a fluke? Eh. Probably a fluke. Fleet reaches up and accepts the datapad from Swindle. He looks at the statistics on the locks, his expression turned into a thoughtful frown. He takes a moment to nod towards Chimera, a slight smile on his face. She's on odd one... always has been... but there's a certain amount of sense to what she's saying right now. Cyberlion blinks trying to process the situation as best he can. "I do not understand why 'others' wish your termination. While you are injured your productivity /is/ limited it will not stay so indefinately. It would do no good to /waste/ a Decepticon soldier without any /good/ reason." Ah! That's rich coming from someone who almost beat the crap out of a fellow con for using the 'K' word. Chimera swings one paint-scraped leg out, stares at the foot. Flexes it. Swings it back, and pauses in her humming. "Because they act on instincts. When something threatens their view on life, they seek to terminate it." She looks towards Fleet, "Because they do not understand." What's she been smoking? Fleet certainly wants some of whatever Chimera's on! He shrugs. "I'll do what I've always done. I'll deal with it, and figure out a way to keep going. And right now I'm going to keep going by purchasing this lock." He points at the datapad and hands it back. "That one, right there." Swindle glances from Fleet to Razorclaw, mostly unacknowledged. "Because many amongst us seem to be prone to superstition, a particular designation of 'this is real'. And anything outside of that proves... unsettling to many. Or so I assume." he takes the pad back from Fleet, paying close attention to the selected item. He nods thoguhtfully. "A good choice." He comments. "Magnetically applied friction, prevents the door from opening without owner's consent." Fleet chuckles slightly, although the noise is strange, grating. "Yes, Swindle," he answers even allowing himself a slight smile. "I read the blurb." Chimera tilts her head, swaying a little, as though to some unheard song, "Reality is malleable. They just don't know it yet." Cyberlion growls "Being back here is kind of weird after all this time on Cybertron. I must admit that for a few moments I thought everyone went nuts when I first arrived." He turns to Swindle "Superstition...I see. So we have a bunch of sissies scared of anything weird. Where is the discipline?" He turns back to Fleet "There is something else that could help secure your quarters. I could carve 'Back off' on the door and sign it. Those ridiculous superstitions are counter-productive to our war effort against the Autobots." Swindle chuckles, nodding approvingly. "Well, the blurb isn't /always/ accurate. Producers often try to over-state their products. But this is a good one," he smirks, "you have my word as an untrustworthy mech." He waves one hand vaguely over at Razorclaw. "Hey, you wanna discipline the troops, dig up those who're afraid to serve alongside their fellows. Fulcrum might be a start." Fleet's expression falls a little at the mention of Fulcrum, and he shakes his head. Then he looks up at Razorclaw and he nods. "Thank you for the offer. I'll take you up on it if it gets any worse." Fleet, for his part, lacks the shame or pride that often prevents someone from accepting an offer of aid. He's always believed in survival by any means, even the ones others might call embarassing. Cyberlion makes a mental note to have a chat with Fulcrum about superstitions and metaphysical crap. "Fulcrum...I'll remember that." The Cyberlion stays relatively still to save fuel. "I hope Galvatron has an assignment for me soon or else I have the feeling I will become very cranky in the near future." And we wouldn't want a cranky k-- er. Razorclaw, now would we? For her part, Chimera frowns a bit muzzily, then goes back to swinging a leg, and humming. Metaphysical crap. Now there's something to contemplate. Swindle taps away at the pad for another moment or two. "Okay, I can get this installed in a few breem, if you're in a rush." He rises slightly, fixing a contemplative look on Razorclaw. "Well," he comments, "I dare say that Galvatron wouldn't complain about a raid or two, whatever your troops are willing to contribute to..." "The sooner the better," Fleet sighs, knowing he'll pay extra for the rush, too. Cyberlion ponders and growls "Very well I will figure something out in the upcoming days. There are rich oil deposits in Southern America. There is also a thick jungle which would provide excellent cover for our escape...if needed. I will have a chat with Tantrum about it. Yes...most definately." Chimera could say something, but she's rather busy contemplating the metaphysical crap. Hm. Swindle makes a note of that, a faint smile on his face as he does so. "Alright. There's a couple of guys I know, trustworthy. Can get it fixed up for you in no time." He glances at Razorclaw almost non-chalantly as he passes the pad back over to Fleet. "Just need an authorisation code..." Fleet tilts his head, then allows himself a slight smiles. "Oh, yes. Southern America. We used to stay away from the Northern section... but didn't I see something in the news about the Militants going missing?" The Seeker accepts the datapad and enters in the authorisation code for the transfer... and no more. Cyberlion half-smiles half-growls "Missing or not it is of little consequence. Granted they could buy us some time if not just more Autobots to shred to pieces. Too often in the past we have negletected southern america because of the militants. I say it is now ripe for the taking." Chimera is still there, swinging her legs occasionally. Nah. She's not really got much to say at the moment... Swindle takes the pad back, noting the approval of the code with satisfaction. He tucks the pad away with little more than a thought, sending a transmission or two to... well, those who are willing to 'listen' to the likes of him. Chimera listens to nothing in particular. She'd listen to Swindle, but he's not quite as interesting as the other voices. Hm.... Clockwork Angel. She's not paying attention to the talk of raids and such. Distractable? Yes. yes she i-- what's that? Shiny-- shin--- ooh! Sparkly! Sparkle Sparkle PRETTTYYYYYY! Fleet dips his head. "That's what I'm saying. With them gone, a whole area that was previously closed to us is now open. We should consider taking advantage of that as soon as possible." Or see if they still have the remains of that Guardian Robot about. Something like that. He tilts his head and looks over at Chimera, who is... staring off into space. "You okay, Chimera?" Chimera doesn't respond to her name, just goes on humming. "Wouldn't it be nice," She interrupts herself, "to go flying through the Andes?" Huh. Maybe she was paying attention. "Narrow passages to test flight skills." Swindle glances over at Fleet, then to Chimera, as she... responds to comments that weren't made. "Okay.." he trails off. "Uh, whatever suits you." He frowns, throwing an inquiring glance at Fleet. Fleet shrugs back up at Swindle, obviously almost as confused as he is. But he does sigh in response to her words. "Can't feel the wind properly on my wings, and my balance is off. Not the best time to be testing my skills." "Yeeeah," Swindle repiles. "Not much of a judge myself, having land-based alt mode and all. Still," Swindle smirks as a thought strikes him, "I'd claim as much sick-leave as is possible." Chimera seems to shake herself. "When you're fixed." a crooked smile curls lazily, "Or when you get tired of four walls..." "Well," Fleet begins, "apparently I'm on light limited status until Scrapper decides the experiment is over. And who knows when that will be?" He frowns, and tilts his head. "Although some endings are better than others, I think." Swindle scowls. "You're talking about /Scrapper./ Even if he decides the experiment is over, he might decide to make use of you. Like as a demonstration piece, or something." Chimera headtilts in a reflection of Fleet. Didn't Scrapper accidentally get Fleet killed in the first place? She should be angry, but... "Some endings don't end." She says in a hushed almost whispery tone, "Some endings are beginnings, and beginnings are endinngs. " Scrapper will fix. Or Arachnae. A short glare towards Swindle. Fleet sighs and shakes his head, leaning back in his seat. "It's really... I mean. He killed me. But he also brought me back, and is my best hope of being restored to something resembling normalcy. So... I don't trust him, but I need him." Then Fleet shrugs. "The good news is, he's High Command. If he says I'm to be kept around, and keeps me on light limited, who's to argue?" ***** *** * * * * * * *** *** **** * * *** * * * * *** * * *** *** ** * * ** * ** * *** *** *** * * *** *** * * * * *** **** * * *** * * * * * , Category: Logs Category: 2026